Rearview Mirror
by outwriter18
Summary: Driver remembered many things, the small things, good things, bad things, wrong things, right things; things that were at once normal, before turning into something entirely out of his league.


Driver remembered many things, the small things, good things, bad things, wrong things, right things; things that were at once normal, before turning into something entirely out of his league. How Shannon's somehow decrepit, downtrodden, yet breathing shop had every tool under the sun needed to tear apart a car and put it back together again, or, at the very least, improve upon what was already there, but never extend past or build up its meager reputation. The underlying rush he would constantly refuse to acknowledge every job he took, legal and illegal alike. How when driving he could look ahead and behind without losing an inch even when thrown in reverse or stopped altogether.

Unfortunately, an unsung rush wouldn't be enough.

"Oh, you two know each other?"

"Don't."

He remembered seeing her for the first time, but not really seeing her, at first just another person in just another apartment building, and how that changed, he still wasn't sure. Why he had helped her was beyond his comprehension. He wondered if it had something to do with the conversation he had overheard in the aisle over. The genuine, unadulterated _love_ expressed in that spare conversation. It was unique, just as unique as her serene friendliness, the air of just wanting to make everyone she encountered feel comfortable with her presence or at least make their day a little brighter, without knowing it. Helping her hadn't been _necessary_, being neighborly hadn't been _necessary_, _caring_ hadn't been _necessary_, but he'd wound up with a glass of water in her apartment anyway. He'd wound up becoming invested despite himself, enjoying the cartoons, being pleasant, accommodating, and _wanting_ to be the good guy.

Unfortunately, he was the shark.

"Just look at him; does he look like a good guy to you?"

But Driver still refused to forget the feeling of the sun warming his skin just so the breeze drifting off the river could cool it, the slapping sound of rocks skipping across the surface of the water accompanied by the impressed laughter of a six-year-old, the grateful laughter of his youthful mother. He remembered how his car had glided along the cement, smooth, sure, as though sharing in the tranquility of that past present moment. He was only supposed to give her a ride home, but he'd been unable to resist trying for something _more_. For once in his entire life, maybe he could do something _worth_ more than job cuts with a side of minimum wage. Smiling just to see her smile, driving just to take some of her time, sitting to watch them be a family and feel like he was a part of it.

Unfortunately, he was not.

"That was my husband's lawyer; he's coming home in a week."

The smell of a cheap cup of coffee going cold as it tried to eliminate the iron scent of a grown man's, a father's, blood. The bitter, incessant taste of betrayal coating his tongue, the panic that stiffened his throat; even if he'd wanted, even if he could, he wouldn't have tasted the coffee. He didn't deserve the flavor. Didn't deserve her momentary confusion, her dimples, the eyes that almost seemed to stare right through him, seeing nothing but what he had given her to see, all he wanted her to see, warmer than honey. He could still feel the longing, knowing that when the job was done so was he, no longer _necessary_ in her life. She wouldn't need him and his car, not anymore, and he was fine with that as long as a mobster kept his promise.

Unfortunately, things weren't that simple.

"Standard was into some…guys in prison for a lot of money. And they were going to hurt you and Benicio if he didn't pay it. He asked me for my help. Everything went wrong. I'm sorry. I still got the money. You can have it if you wanted to. You can take Benicio…I just thought you could get out of here if you wanted. I could come with you. I could look out for you."

The slap had hurt Driver more than his arm being speckled with shot, the echo reaching through his core to seize his mind, his throat, the back of his neck…his heart. He recalled with startling clarity the look on her face after he'd told her the truth, remembering the sliding of the elevator doors to his left, golden light revealing the trail of liquid salt down his cheek. Her lack of response had dug just as deep, but then he never got to hear her answer to the only full _plea_ he had ever made in his life, the only one he had ever actually _meant_. Part of it, all of it, was his fault, but he had deemed the threat necessary to eliminate, the ferocity of it fueled by his own self-loathing in not being able to change certain aspects of most recent history. He hadn't even considered what her reaction would be. He had expected a scream, the receding pace of her running footsteps, but when they didn't come, he had wished that was exactly what she had done. The trepidation, sheer nausea and repulsion he felt for himself at her sheer silence; breathing was all he could do.

Unfortunately, the implications of such an unwelcome visit were clear.

"They came to my apartment, Shannon. How'd they know where I live?"

Colder than the golden bullet that he had shoved down Cook's throat sat _fury_ in _his_ stomach. The abhorrence he had felt for what had been his agent, boss, and possible future partner hadn't stopped him from tapping into his stilted loyalty to the crippled man. He didn't like acknowledging Shannon as his _friend_; it meant acknowledging his responsibility for what might happen. He didn't like going out of his element; but he didn't have much of a choice. Driver was not a hit man, but certain debts had to be paid.

"Did you bring the money?"

It was a simple question, followed by a speaking silence. Driver didn't need, didn't have to voice the answer.

"Here's what I'm prepared to offer. You give me the money, the girl is safe. Forever. Nobody knows about her. She's off the map. I _can't_ offer _you_ the same. So, this is what I would suggest. We conclude our deal. We'll shake hands. You start the rest of your life. Any dreams you have, or plans, or hopes for your future…I think you're going to have to put that on hold. For the rest of your life you're going to be looking over your shoulder. I'm just telling you this because I want you to know the truth. But the girl is safe…Where's the money now?"

"It's in the car."

"Come on."

First Nino, an easier target on the road; then Bernie, more a challenge sitting in a restaurant than anyone else he had executed in his lifetime. The knife had bit hard, and the pain of moving his injured arm had only further assaulted his senses. But his speed was not reduced. It didn't take him long to realize the knife was the same that had emptied Shannon, so he'd used it to empty Bernie Rose. The knife that had killed Shannon, the knife that bit into his own abdomen, was then returned to Bernie's collar, where it finished its course of action. Blood further stained the pristine white of Driver's jacket, but the golden emblem remained untouched, and somehow that was most important.

He had thought he would die, his mind clouded by the things he remembered most, clearest: Warm sun, fluttering leaves, burbling river; stones, crawdad claws, cement; cartoon sharks, little blue sneakers, a ringing cellphone; shotgun shells, blood, cold coffee; short blond hair, soft lips, slim waist; fear, anxiety, anger; a final phone call, an answering machine, the confession; pleasantries, a predictable end, and, finally, pain. But as everything else did, the pain dulled with time, the blood clotting, the wound scabbing over. Driver blinked purposefully, resolutely. He wasn't going to die, despite how tired he felt. Already, he could feel the injuries begin to heal.

Fortunately, driving took little energy – eyesight, coordination between gas, brake, clutch, gear shift…consciousness. But he knew how to drive, how to make those things and himself work. It was what he did. What he'd only ever done that was worth anything. No matter his destination, he'd reach it, even if he didn't know where it was.

"For the rest of your life you're going to be looking over your shoulder."

With a review mirror constantly hanging above his head, it was hard to remember the last time he hadn't done just that.

_Author's Note:_

_I recently became obsessed with Driver after watching it again recently; I'd seen it once before, but then after viewing it a second time I had to watch it a third, a fourth….a fifth…so on and so forth until I lost track of how many times I watched it. I bought the book it was based on and read it in an evening (granted, only 100+ pages), I read as much fan fiction as I could, as was available, but heck, even that wasn't enough to sate my obsession for this movie. So here is something I wrote to try to ease it…maybe. I know it's not very good; I know there are thousands of mistakes. I found them, some I fixed, others I left. It's not supposed to be grammatically correct…probably because I'm just too lazy to fix it, don't think I need to…and/or because I like it how it is. Rough and incomplete ;) I also wasn't intending to post it, but I figured, why not? Add another story to the archive, and increase my own "library" of sorts._

_I just had to take a break from my other project…and here is the result. Anyway, hope you (reader) at least enjoyed/hated it a little bit! Sorry too if this story is redundant…it's more a summary of the whole movie than anything else -_-'_

_Thanks for reading!_


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